


Mr. Jorgensen

by 18WhyamIdoingthis20



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/18WhyamIdoingthis20/pseuds/18WhyamIdoingthis20
Summary: Sorry for the death. The names aren't entirely a coincidence.





	Mr. Jorgensen

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the death. The names aren't entirely a coincidence.

It was an ordinary day. Harry awoke at his usual time, ate his breakfast, then headed to his study to complete some of his work. He was alone in his study but didn’t mind. He had received far too many interruptions from his older siblings in the past – he welcomed the opportunity to finally be able to attend to his business without anyone to distract him. He may have been alone in the hours he spent working, but he did not feel lonely. He enjoyed the chance he would have to spend with his own company. Finally, he was master of the house and he enjoyed the autonomy he had.

After lunch, he retired to the drawing room with his mother. As usually happened, she asked him how his day went.  
“The same as always, mother,” he replied. “Uneventful. I’ve had some work to do, but nothing terribly exciting.”  
“I’m glad to see you enjoying your work, Henry,” she said. “I did worry that you would find it overwhelming at first, but you seem to have taken the additional responsibilities on with ease.”  
“It keeps me from getting bored, I suppose. How has your morning been?”  
“I was reading the letter your sister sent to me the other day. She seems to be settling quite well into her married life.”  
“She has been married for over a year. I would expect that she would have become accustomed to her new life by now.”  
“A lot can happen in a year, Henry. With my late husband it took quite some time for us to adjust to our new way of life. And your sister moved quite some distance from home. It can be difficult for a person to adjust to so many changes at once.”  
“I suppose you are right, mother, it’s just that I…” Harry’s sentence was cut off by the unexpected opening of the door. A young man, whom Harry had never seen before, burst in.  
“What on earth are you doing in here, young man?” Harry’s mother asked.  
“I was sent to polish the silverware in the dining room,” the stranger replied confidently. “I realise that this isn’t actually the dining room but, in fact, is the drawing room, but you have rather more rooms than I was expecting any person to have so I became confused. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you in any way.”  
Harry felt his cheeks growing warm and a small smile began to creep into the corners of his mouth. “You’ve been of no inconvenience at all, sir.” He replied, struggling to keep his countenance.  
“Yes well, thank you anyway, sir,” Harry’s mother interrupted, briskly. “I wouldn’t want to encroach any further on your work. The dining room is the next one along. You can’t miss it.”  
“Thank you, ma’am.” The stranger bowed and made his way to the exit. “I hope to see you again soon.”  
“Very well. I hope that on that occasion it is not due to some misdemeanour on your part, young man.”  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He closed the door behind him, allowing Harry’s mother to continue their conversation. Harry, however, found his mind was preoccupied and it was a struggle for him to disguise his distraction from his mother.

“Excuse me, sir.” Harry called out, upon seeing the young man from earlier as he was walking down the corridor. He stopped.  
“What do you want?” he asked politely.  
“I was wondering…” Harry felt uncertain – as much as he wanted to speak, he struggled to think of the words to say. “What is your name, sir?”  
“Mr. Harrison.” He held out his hand for Harry. “And yourself?”  
“Mr. Jorgensen.” Harry took Mr. Harrison’s hand and shook it. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Mr. Harrison.”  
“Likewise, Mr. Jorgensen.” Mr. Harrison gave Harry a small smile. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, sir?”  
“Well, I was wondering,” Harry began, incredibly nervously, struggling to find the words. “If you could… well, my office is becoming unkempt, and I was wondering, well, would polishing my doorknob be considered to be in the realm of your work?”  
“I believe it would, Mr. Jorgensen,” Mr. Harrison replied, giving Harry an odd look. “And I would be honoured to polish your doorknob. It would be my pleasure to help maintain your office environment to the highest standards.”  
“Why thank you, Mr. Harrison. I look forward to seeing you join me in my office whenever it is convenient for you.”  
“I shall be sure to make my way there with considerable haste, Mr. Jorgensen. The prospect of polishing your doorknob delights me.”  
“Well, then, it’s been nice talking to you, Mr. Harrison.”  
“Indeed, it has, Mr. Jorgensen.”  
Harry headed to his office, his mind full of regrets for his awkwardness.

Harry heard a knock at his door. “Come in!” he called, trying his hardest to neaten his desk. Mr. Harrison entered. “Ah, Mr. Harrison, you’ve come here much sooner than I expected you would, and I find myself unfit for company.”  
“I am hardly company, Mr. Jorgensen,” Mr. Harrison replied, gently closing the door behind himself with his foot so as to maintain unbroken eye contact with Harry. “I am merely here to polish your doorknob. My presence will naturally improve the state of your office, so it will hardly surprise me if it is in any state of disarray.”  
Harry made no reply, instead returning to his work, his cheeks pinker than before. After a silence, he plucked up the courage to ask, “How long have you been working here for, Mr. Harrison?”  
“Less than a week, Mr. Jorgensen.” Mr. Harrison paused his polishing as he spoke. “I suppose it would be meaningless for me to ask the same of you, since you have lived here your whole life.”  
“I may have lived here that long, but I only really began any proper business recently – prior to that it was mostly managed by other members of my family.” Harry paused, putting down his pen as he thought. “What brings you to work here, Mr. Harrison?”  
“Money, of course. I need to support my family.”  
Harry could feel his heart racing and he could barely keep his voice steady as he asked, “You seem young to have children – have you been married long?”  
Mr. Harrison laughed slightly at Harry, flashing him a reassuring smile. “I am not married, Mr. Jorgensen,” he replied quickly. “Marriage is not the only way through which one can acquire a family – I was speaking of my mother, as well as my younger siblings.”  
“Of course,” Harry replied, feeling much relieved. “Forgive me for such a foolish error, Mr. Harrison.”  
“It’s nothing, I assure you, Mr. Jorgensen.” Mr Harrison paused as he attended to the doorknob. “However, I do believe that I have finished my task here. I must leave you, Mr. Jorgensen, for I have more important things to do. Farewell.”  
“Farewell, Mr. Harrison.”  
Harry watched the door close behind Mr. Harrison before returning to his work.

Harry paused slightly, before entering the room. Mr. Harrison was in there, polishing a candlestick.  
“Ah, Mr. Harrison,” Harry began, sounding far more confident than he felt. “I was wondering whether you were going to polish the silverware in the dining room.”  
“Indeed, I am,” Mr. Harrison replied, a smile toying around the corners of his mouth. “Since that is what I am doing presently.”  
“Excellent, excellent,” Harry muttered, shifting his feet uncertainly. “Nice to hear.” There was an awkward silence as Harry wanted to remain but felt as though he should leave.  
“Was there something else you wanted to say to me?” George asked, still polishing the candlestick. “I thought that maybe, based on your demeanour, that there was something you wanted to say.”  
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Harry asked.  
“What do you mean?” Mr. Harrison seemed genuinely confused and surprised.  
“Can I help you with your polishing?” Harry asked, walking over to where Mr. Harrison was stood.  
“I’m not sure if your years of business have prepared you for such manual work.” Mr. Harrison took Harry’s hand and held it close to his face. “You have very delicate hands. I would not wish for you to hurt them.”  
Harry felt a strange sensation when Mr. Harrison touched him, and it took him a few moments to compose himself. “What’s your first name?” Harry asked in a soft voice.  
“Why do you want to know?” Mr. Harrison replied, still holding Harry’s hand.  
“I usually like to know a man’s name before he holds my hand.” Harry paused, then realised what he had said. “Not that it is usual for anyone to hold my hands. I have not met many men in my life. Not that I have been sheltered at all, I have merely…” Harry trailed off, aware that he was talking nonsense.  
“It’s George,” Mr. Harrison interrupted. “My name is George. What about yourself, Mr. Jorgensen?”  
“My name is Harry. My mother calls me Henry, but I prefer Harry.”  
“Well then, Harry, is that all you wanted to say to me?” Mr. Harrison turned to face Harry, looking him directly into the eyes.  
Harry absently wove his fingers in-between George’s. “What more can I say to you, George?” he asked softly, returning the gaze.  
“I believe I understand you, Harry,” George replied, in a serious tone. “I have observed your behaviour since we first met, but I would not wish to compromise my position in any way.”  
“You can never compromise your position with me,” Harry replied earnestly. “That is the last thing I would wish to do.”  
“But I would not wish to compromise your own position either, Harry. If I were to be in some trouble, and the right thing to do would be to dismiss me, would you be prepared to do that?”  
Harry stared into George’s eyes, still squeezing his hand. “I don’t believe you would ever do that to me, George. If you did, then you wouldn’t be the man I thought you were.”  
“I suppose your answer is satisfactory, Harry,” George replied with a smile. “I suppose I shall endeavour to be a model citizen. If it means that I am able to see more of you, young Harry, then I suppose I shall be able to manage it.”  
Harry was struggling to think of a reply when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. George dropped Harry’s hand, seized a candlestick, and started furiously polishing it. Harry went to answer the door, opening it to a maid.  
“Hello, Victoria,” Harry said, trying to sound natural. “Is there anything we can do to help you?”  
“I wanted to have a word with Mr. Harrison,” Victoria replied, making her way into the room. “I was hoping that he would have finished up in here by now.”  
“I’ve nearly done,” Mr. Harrison replied, still polishing the candlestick. “I’ll see you when I’ve finished.”  
“I hope you will be done soon because this is important.” Victoria sounded stern.  
“Where will I find you when I’m done?” Mr. Harrison asked, continuing to polish.  
“In the drawing room, as usual.” Victoria left the room.  
“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” Harry asked, approaching George.  
“I suppose that your assistance would speed up the process, although I am not sure whether I would want to hasten my exit.”  
“Victoria did sound quite upset. It would probably be better for both of us in the long run if I made myself useful.” Harry walked over to Mr. Harrison and watched him polish for a few moments. “What do you want me to do?”  
“If you could take this cloth, and that candlestick, I could show you.”  
Harry obeyed, feeling a sort of thrill as George demonstrated how to polish the candlesticks. They finished the task quite quickly, to Harry’s disappointment, so Mr. Harrison left to see what Victoria wanted him to do.

Harry was working at his desk when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in.” he called. George entered. “Pleasure to see you, Mr. Harrison.”  
“The feeling is mutual, I assure you, Mr. Jorgensen,” George replied, closing the door behind himself. “Nothing brings me more delight than seeing your good self.”  
Harry blushed a little at the compliment. “What business brings you here, Mr. Harrison?”  
“Business of the most important kind, dear Harry.” George answered, giving Harry a sly grin.  
“What is it, George?”  
“This is a most delicate matter, Harry – one which requires your full, undivided attention.”  
Curious, Harry got up from behind his desk and approached George. “What on earth is the matter, George?” he asked, genuinely concerned.  
“Well, Harry, I was rather hoping that you could give me a kiss.”  
“You… you want…” Harry spluttered, stumbling over his words. “You’re asking me for a kiss?”  
“If you wouldn’t mind, of course.” George gently traced his fingers over Harry’s cheek as he spoke.  
“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Harry replied, still stumbling over his words slightly. “I wouldn’t mind that at all. I would quite like that, in fact.”  
George smiled, and cupped Harry’s chin in his hand; Harry closed his eyes as George’s lips met his. It was only for a brief, fleeting moment, but that moment was the most wonderful Harry had ever felt. After they broke away, Harry remained as he was, stunned.  
“I’m afraid I must go, now,” George apologised, opening the door. “I have business to attend to elsewhere.”  
Harry cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “Very well then, Mr. Harrison,” he muttered. “I shall see you next time business brings you to my study.”  
“I shall make sure not to stall it, sir.” George replied, winking at Harry, before leaving down the passage. Harry remained a few moments, watching George walk away, before returning to his desk and continuing with his business.

“Have you finished polishing the doorknob, Mr. Harrison?” Harry asked as he was working at his desk.  
“Perhaps I have, Mr. Jorgensen” George replied. “Perhaps I have.”  
“I assume you are remaining here because you have further business with me, Mr. Harrison.”  
“That is indeed the case, Mr. Jorgensen.” George checked that the door was closed and walked over to Harry’s desk. “My Harry.”  
Harry got up from behind his desk and approached George. George placed a gentle hand on Harry’s waist. Harry leaned towards him, so he could feel his breath on his face. “My George.” He whispered. George kissed him, an act which had not ceased to fill Harry with joyous sensations. They broke apart. “That is indeed most important business,” Harry said, after a pause. “I see no way in which that could have possibly been postponed.”  
“Oh no, indeed, Harry,” George replied, taking Harry’s hand in his. “That was crucial and could have no delays. It was, however, not the whole of my business with you.”  
“Was it not? It felt very thorough to me.”  
“That it may have been, but I still have more to say. You see, I was supposed to have finished my work an hour ago. I came here with the sole purpose of seeing you.”  
“Oh my”  
“What I wanted to tell you, Harry, is that I am free for the rest of the evening. If we are careful, we can go somewhere more informal than here and spend some time together.”  
“That is a most delightful proposition, George. I find myself unable to refuse it.”  
“Where do you suggest we spend the remainder of the evening then, Harry?”  
“I am at least risk of being interrupted in my bedroom, I do believe.”  
“Well then, Harry, I suppose you had better take me there. Just take care that no one sees us.”  
“It is not a long walk to my room, and this area is usually deserted at this hour. We should be relatively safe.”  
“You go first – I shall observe the path you take and then follow it myself. That way, should either of us encounter anyone, it will arouse less suspicion.”  
“Ok then, George. I shall see you soon.” George kissed Harry’s cheek; Harry left the room and headed for his bedroom, where he waited for George to join him.

“Well, here we are,” Harry said, when George had closed the door. “What was your plan for us to do this evening?”  
“I thought that perhaps we could use this opportunity to better acquaint ourselves,” George explained, walking over to where Harry was. “Although we have had situations within which we have been able to converse, I felt a more private and prolonged discourse was in order, one in which we can discuss freely and openly without interruption.”  
“I understand. Much of our time together has been only brief moments – it will be nice to have more time to properly converse, uninterrupted.” Harry locked the door, leaving the key on a nightstand.  
George seated himself upon Harry’s bed and patted the space beside him. “Come over here, then, and we can have that chat.”  
Harry sat himself beside George. “Did you have any topic in mind, George?” he asked.  
“I was hoping to get to know you better Harry – for example, what do you do with your time when I’m not around?”  
“Work, mostly. I only really have my mother for company. I don’t really go out much.”  
“Surely you must have had some companionship besides your mother – who did you have to talk to before I arrived?”  
“I suppose I had my siblings, but they’re all so much older than me. We never found much in common to discuss with each other.”  
“Yours has been a lonely life, Harry, hasn’t it?”  
“Well, I suppose so. I hadn’t really noticed. I suppose I had grown accustomed to my loneliness.”  
“In that case, Harry, I shall make it my endeavour to ensure that you never experience loneliness again. I would hate for you to be so unhappy, Harry.”  
Harry tried to thank George but couldn’t quite find the words to express his full sentiment. Instead, he asked “What about yourself, George? Had you any friends before we met?”  
“I had a few, but we weren’t very close. I got on fairly well with my older brother, but I always felt as though I did not properly fit in with the rest of my family. I do miss them, but I would much rather be here with you.”  
“I could bear a great deal with you by my side, George.” Harry leaned his head against George’s shoulder. “I know we have not known each other for a long time, but I feel so much closer to you than people whom I have known my whole life.”

George and Harry stayed up for much of the night, conversing. They covered such a wide variety of topics that Harry could hardly remember what George had said to him – he was left with an impression most pleasant of the time he had spent with him. They lost all sense of the passage of time as they spoke.

Harry awoke early the next morning, the gentle rays of dawn sunlight caressing his face.   
“Good morning Harry.” George whispered.  
“George,” Harry whispered in reply. “Are you really here?”  
“Well of course I am, Harry. If I had been seen heading to my room at such a late hour, it would have surely raised suspicion.”  
“You are right, of course, George. I suppose I am still amazed that I did not dream last evening.”  
“That was no dream, Harry – unless by some chance we happened to have dreamed the same dream while I sleepwalked into your bedchamber.”  
“That does indeed sound more unlikely, George. You are such a wonderful person as to offer to spend time acquainting yourself with me. I’m so glad I met you, George.”  
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. You are the most wonderful man I ever met, and I cannot now imagine my life without you.”  
Harry wasn’t sure what to say; he just stared into George’s eyes, his heart racing.  
“Anyway,” George sighed, after a long pause. “I am afraid I will have to leave now – I do have work to be doing after all.”  
“It’s barely dawn, George,” Harry protested. “Surely you do not have to start work now.”  
“I must also dress myself, and have breakfast, Harry, do not forget. And if I were to be seen – which becomes increasingly likely with every moment that passes – I am not sure whether I would be able to explain myself.”  
Harry sighed, seeing that George was being reasonable. “Fine, you can go – but the quicker you leave now, the sooner I expect to see you in my office.”  
“I shall be there as soon as I am available, sir.”  
Harry watched George as he left the room, then rolled out of bed himself and dressed for the day.

“My Harry.” George whispered; a gentle hand on his hip, a soft kiss on his neck, and Harry’s heart melted.  
“My George.” Harry whispered back. George’s fingers brushed against his, giving Harry another burst of happiness at the sensation. Their fingers interlaced and they stood for several minutes just looking into each other’s eyes. There was a knock at the door, and they broke apart.  
“Come in.” Harry called out. A maid entered.  
“I was wondering if Mr. Harrison had finished in here,” she said uncertainly. “Because he is required to polish the silverware in the west wing, but I would hate to interrupt any work he might be doing in here.”  
“Oh no,” Harry replied, as assertively as he could. “He was just finishing up, weren’t you, Mr. Harrison?”  
“Indeed, Mr. Jorgensen,” George agreed. “I had just finished my business in here and was just going to polish her ladyship’s silverware. If you’ll excuse me, sir.” He bowed politely and left Harry and the maid alone in the room.  
“Have you anything else to say, Christina?” Harry asked.  
“You needn’t hide anything from me,” she replied softly. “I know how you feel.”  
Harry swallowed. “Have you any more messages from my mother?” he said, after a pause.  
“She wants to speak to you in the drawing room, if you don’t mind.”  
“Thank you, Christina.”  
Christina nodded at Harry, then left the room. Harry took a deep breath to compose himself, then headed for the drawing room to find his mother.

“Ah, Henry,” his mother said when he entered the room. “I was just going to send someone to find you. How have you been keeping?”  
“I am well, mother,” Harry replied politely. “What about yourself?”  
“Never better. Now, what are you doing here?”  
“You asked to see me, mother.”  
“Did I? Ah, yes – I remember now. I thought that I should tell you that I am inviting a distinguished guest to our house this evening, whose stay is to be of some considerable length.”  
“Who is this guest?” Harry asked.  
“What guest? Have you invited someone to visit?”  
“You’ve invited a distinguished guest here. I was wondering who that was.”  
“That would be Baron Fitzroy. We are engaged to be married – I shall become a Baroness. I hope you are prepared for this most wonderful of events.”  
“I would not wish to disappoint you, mother.”  
“Chance would be a fine thing. You are ever a disappointment to me, Henry. I cannot believe that you are my son.”  
“Have you quite finished, mother?”  
“Yes, yes. Go away Henry.”  
“Good day, mother.” Harry bowed politely and left the room.

Despite appearances, his mother had been affectionate in his youth, but age had embittered her against the world, making her dismissive and often cold. She frequently informed him of trivialities more than once but forgot to mention significant and important information. While Harry had known of his mother’s engagement to the Baron for some time, the knowledge of his visit was new to him. As he hadn’t met the Baron yet, he felt somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of inhabiting the same house as him for an indefinite length of time. However, as long as he had George, he felt he could face anything.

“Mr. Jorgensen.”  
Harry paused his undressing for bed. “What is it, Mr. Harrison?”  
“I was wondering if you had heard the news of the Baron’s intended visit. I know your mother was going to tell you, but I know her memory isn’t the best.” George was stood uncertainly in the passage, leaning on the doorframe.  
“I heard of it earlier today, actually. That was what Christina came in to say.”  
“It is a shame we were interrupted, Mr. Jorgensen. That was a most interesting discussion we were having then.”  
“We could continue it, if you like.” Harry gave George a coy smile. “My mother thinks I have retired for the night, so you can stay here for as long as you wish – if no one will miss you, that is.”  
“I have finished for today, if that is what you are asking, Mr. Jorgensen. I don’t think anyone will notice if I do not return to my room.”  
“Well then, Mr. Harrison, if you don’t mind, I was wondering if you would like to come in.”  
“As you wish, sir.” George entered the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“I don’t know if I want the Baron to visit here, George,” Harry whispered in George’s ear. “I have never met the man before. I know nothing of his character. All I know is that he intends to marry my mother.”  
“Your mother is a good woman, Harry,” George whispered back, leaning his elbow against the pillow. “If he has sense enough to see that, surely you can hope that he is a good man himself.”  
“But my mother is not entirely in her right mind at the moment.” Harry was visibly worried, even in the dim light provided by the rapidly approaching dawn. “And the fact that the Baron asked for my mother’s hand before we even met once suggests that he does not respect me as her nearest relation and only child. While I do not expect him to ask for my permission, it would be common curtesy for him to introduce himself to me before deciding to marry my mother. That he has not done this I take to be a bad sign.” Harry gently stroked George’s cheek with the tips of his fingers. “If I do not have you with me, George, I fear that I will be quite miserable.”  
George caught Harry’s hand and gently kissed his fingers. “I promise, Harry, that I will do my best to not fail you. I do not wish to see you unhappy, dearest. I will do whatever is in my power to keep you happy during the Baron’s stay. I may even continue to do so afterwards if you’d like.”  
“I would like that very much, George, and you know that.”  
“Well then, Harry, perhaps I will not wait for the arrival of the Baron.”  
“A wonderful thought, darling George. However, dawn is fast approaching, and I fear that you must leave me otherwise someone will notice your absence.”  
George sighed. “It’s been dawn for nearly an hour, Harry, and no one has noticed yet. I’m sure a few more minutes won’t make a difference.”  
“George.” Harry was trying to sound stern, but his voice was too soft. “The fact that dawn was an hour ago is even more reason for you to leave. Someone is bound to notice sooner or later. I only wish we didn’t have to keep this a secret.”  
“Fine. I’ll go downstairs.” George climbed out of bed and dressed himself. “But I’ll make sure to see you later on today. You won’t be able to avoid me, Harry.”  
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, George.” Harry smiled as George gave him a farewell kiss on the cheek. Harry lay in bed for a few minutes, basing in the happiness that George provided him. However, he was aware that he had work to do. Sighing, he rose from his bed, dressed, and headed to his study to work, awaiting the moment when he would be interrupted by George.

Such did the days pass until the arrival of the Baron’s party – for he did not visit alone; the Baron brought his brother’s family with him as well. Seemingly to vex Harry further, the Baron had already introduced his brother and his brother’s children to Harry’s mother, and they had apparently been pleased with her and she with them. Harry, however, continued with his usual routine, spending as much time with George as he could without disrupting their work or arousing suspicion.

“Mr. Jorgensen.”  
“Yes Mr. Harrison.”  
“Have you met the Baron yet?”  
Harry was sat at his writing desk, George was polishing the door handle, and it had been a few minutes before either of them had spoken.  
“I saw him briefly upon his arrival, but since then I have not had the honour of conversing with him.” It was clear from the tone of his voice Harry was annoyed that, even while inhabiting the same house, the Baron seemed ill inclined to introduce himself.  
“I have not seen him at all, although I have become somewhat acquainted with some of his brother’s children. They seem to be somewhat agreeable young men – though I could not help thinking yourself superior to them.”  
“You are blinded by affection, Mr. Harrison. I am sure that, were we not old friends, you would find the heir of a Baron far more agreeable company than me.”  
“I do not believe that to be true, Mr. Jorgensen.” George turned to face Harry and gave him a mischievous smile.  
“Why is that so, George?”  
“Well, Harry, you forget that we are such good friends because I prefer your company to any other’s. If it were not so, I would tell you, Harry. I have far too much respect for you to lie to you.”  
“But if you had not such strong feelings, would you not be tempted to lie, Mr. Harrison?”  
“I do not think that you need to consider that possibility, Mr. Jorgensen. You have received far too much proof of my true feelings for you. If I had not those feelings, either you or I would be different men, and we would not be having this conversation, in this room, at this time. Perhaps I would still be acquainting myself with the family of the Baron – in person or by proxy – or you would have dismissed me from your service for some insubordination or another.”  
Harry laughed. “You are rather in the habit of taking liberties, Mr. Harrison, in the knowledge that my affection prevents me from dismissing you from my company.”  
“But I am not lacking in my own displays of affection.” George’s voice spoke effrontery, but the sparkle of his eyes told a different story. “Or do you forget the pleasure I give you?”  
“You do most certainly deserve the favour bestowed upon you – although, since I am the one to bestow it, I am perhaps not the best judge of whether that is the case.”  
“I do not mind if you are not the most suitable judge in this situation – you are the only person whose judgment I trust implicitly.” George stopped his polishing entirely, stood upright, and faced Harry properly. “I hope that I can always depend upon your judgement, Mr. Jorgensen.”  
“I shall not deprive you of my company any time soon, if it means that much to you.” Harry stood up from his desk and approached George. “Have you quite finished polishing there, Mr. Harrison?”  
“Ah, Mr. Jorgensen, I have been neglecting some of my other duties in favour of your enlightening conversation. I suppose that I must leave you now, Mr. Jorgensen.”  
“If you wish, Mr. Harrison. I shall not detain you if you really have somewhere much more urgent to go.”  
“I admit I do, Mr. Jorgensen, but I do not wish to leave without a kiss.”  
Harry chuckled slightly, but satisfied George’s request with a small kiss on the cheek. George caught Harry’s arm as he returned to his desk and pulled his body closer. Smiling, Harry leaned towards George, who kissed him gently on the lips before leaving the room. Harry returned to his desk and continued his work, the hint of a smile still playing around the edge of his mouth.

“Are you the young Mr. Jorgensen?”  
Harry looked up from his desk to see that the Baron had entered his study and was scrutinising him from the doorway.  
“I am indeed,” Harry answered, standing up from his seat and extending a friendly hand for the Baron to shake. “Harry Jorgensen, pleased to meet you sir.”  
“Charmed, I’m sure,” the Baron said flatly, not moving from the doorway. “Have you prepared for the wedding?”  
“I have done what I can with the information available to me, sir,” Harry answered truthfully. “I was wondering if you would be able to provide the additional details for me, if it isn’t too much trouble, sir.”  
“Well, what do you know already, young Henry?” the Baron asked brusquely.  
“That you – Baron Fitzroy - intend to marry my mother. I believe that this marriage will take place soon, but I have not yet been told when it will take place.”  
“The wedding will take place next Saturday.” The Baron stated definitively.  
“That’s only ten days, sir. Are you nervous at all?”  
“Of course not, stupid boy. Why on earth would I be nervous?”  
“I hear it’s typical for a person to feel a little nervous before their wedding – it’s a big day, after all.”  
“Perhaps I would be nervous if I were young and inexperienced like yourself. However, age and experience have taught me prudence – prudence I have practised in the choosing of my wife. Consequently, I have no reason to fear on my wedding day.”  
“Well…” Harry was uncertain of what to say to the Baron – he wanted to continue with his business, but he did not wish to seem rude to the Baron. “I am glad to hear that you are so confident regarding your future happiness. It must be nice to have such an opportunity at this stage in your life.”  
“Are you suggesting that I am aged and infirm, young man?” The Baron snapped, taking a stride into the room.  
“Not at all, not at all.” Harry was panicking. “I merely meant that with age and experience there often comes misery. I am pleased to hear your confidence that your life will be joyous.”  
The Baron made no reply, instead pursing his lips and leaving the room. Upon seeing this, Harry was perplexed, but took the opportunity to continue what he had been doing before. 

Shortly afterwards, he was interrupted again, this time by the entrance of George.  
“I see you’ve been visited by the Baron, Mr. Jorgensen,” he said, as he closed the door behind him. “How did the introduction go?”  
“I suppose it could have gone worse, George,” Harry sighed, putting his papers away and walking out from behind his desk towards George. “I got to find out more about the wedding – but he called me Henry!” Harry sighed and leaned against the wall by the door. “Only my mother calls me Henry. Everyone else just calls me Mr. Jorgensen or Harry. I don’t much like being called Henry, especially be strangers.”  
“Aw, Harry.” George caressed Harry’s face gently with his fingers. “Perhaps, after a few meetings, he might feel familiar enough to call you by your diminutive.” George paused for a moment in thought. “Or maybe, if you ask, he might call you Mr. Jorgensen instead. I’m not sure if I want him calling you Harry just yet.” George took Harry’s hand in his. “You’re my Harry, not his.”  
Harry smiled, squeezing George’s hand. “I do so love it when you call me Harry. I don’t think it will sound the same coming from someone else.”  
“Is that so, my Harry?” George’s face was almost touching Harry’s; he could feel his breath tickling against his cheek.  
“My George.” Harry whispered back, leaning into George until their lips met in a kiss. Suddenly, the door clicked open and Harry nearly fell over, as he had been half leaning against it. They broke apart and turned around, to see the Baron looming over them.  
“Well, sir, I don’t believe we’ve met,” George said, after an awkward pause. “I believe you are Baron Fitzroy. I am Mr. Harrison, one of the staff. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” George held out his hand and, to Harry’s surprise, the Baron shook it.  
“Well, Baron,” Harry said, his mind racing. “Was there something you wanted to say to me? You see, I was just in the middle of discussing some matter of the utmost importance with Mr. Harrison, after which I was going to get back to my business, and I rather thought that you had said all you wished to in our last meeting.”  
“I am well aware of the nature of your discussion,” the Baron retorted. “Having been privy to a great part of it – do you think that I would marry into a family without learning as much as possible about it beforehand? I wanted to know what sort of man you are – and I think I’ve heard enough from this conversation to learn all about you, Henry Jorgensen.”  
“Oh really, _Baron_ Fitzroy?” George sneered, incensed. “Well, I think I’ve heard quite enough about you already.” He paused slightly, to draw breath. “And if you wanted to learn more about Mr. Jorgensen, perhaps you should have introduced yourself to him before you proposed to his mother, rather than resorting to being conniving and deceitful, spying on those who should be able to trust you.” His voice was becoming louder with every word, and he was squaring up to the Baron. “You have not been in this house for a day – Mr. Jorgensen has lived here his whole life. How dare you come into his home and violate his privacy like that! I cannot believe you would be so disrespectful as to enter his study unannounced, let alone eavesdrop on his private conversation!”  
“I can do what I like, young man!” the Baron cried, outraged. “And I will certainly not take advice from someone as insignificant as you. Do you know who I am? I am the Baron Fitzroy, the distinguished guest and fiancé of her ladyship – your employer. You are just the serving boy, Mr. Whatever-you’re-called. I don’t have to listen to you, young man, and I certainly don’t have to do anything you tell me. I am a man who knows his own mind, and I know what I think of you.”  
“Who you are is not important,” Harry interrupted, in a quiet voice. “It is still my house, and until you marry my mother, I am its master, and I deserve respect. My relationships with my staff are none of your business. Let me keep my business, and I’ll leave you to yours.”  
“Well said, Mr. Jorgensen.” George said fondly, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  
“I’ll have none of this!” the Baron snapped, seizing Harry by the collar, and shoving him against the wall. Harry pushed him away and tried to leave the room, but the Baron grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and slapped his face. Infuriated, George grabbed the Baron’s arm and tried to pull him away from Harry. The Baron fought him off, slamming him violently into the wall. George’s head hit the doorframe with a loud bang, and his body slumped to the floor, lifeless.  
“George!” Harry cried out, crouching down to see him. “George!”  
George’s eyes fluttered open. “Harry?” he whispered.  
“Yes George,” Harry replied, holding George’s hand. “I’m here. Are you alright?”  
“I love you, Harry.” George whispered. His eyes shut again, and he was no more.  
“George?” Harry whispered.  
George was silent.  
“George? George? George!” his voice became louder and more frantic with each word. “Talk to me George! Speak to me!” Harry felt George’s neck and wrists for a pulse, but there was none to be found; there was no rise and fall to his chest; only a thin trickle of blood running down from the back of his head. “George.” Harry’s voice broke. “George, please. I need you. I love you. How am I meant to live without you, George? Please, George, don’t be dead. Please don’t die, George. I love you George.” Harry kissed George’s lips. “I can’t bear to live without you.” Harry kissed George again. “What am I supposed to do now, George? Tell me, what am I supposed to do without you?” Harry shuddered, as the realisation that George was gone began to hit him. Crying, he hugged George, not caring about the blood on his face – all he could feel was pain that his lover was dead. “I love you George.” Harry’s voice was scarcely audible. For a few moments he stayed there, holding onto George, tears gently rolling down his cheek as he processed what had happened.

“He’s dead.” Harry let go of George and stood up. “He’s… dead. You killed him.” Harry turned to the Baron, overcome with rage, pain, and grief. “You killed my George! You bastard! I hate you! I hope you burn in hell for this!” Harry lunged at the Baron, who turned and fled down the corridor, leaving Harry shouting after him, for he could not bear to leave George. “You… killed… my… George.” Harry slumped to the floor beside George, sobbing, defeated. “I need… George.”

In the days following George’s death, Harry did little other than cry. He remained shut up in his bedroom, lying in his bed, sobbing. Occasionally, Christina would come in to give him some food or drink, but otherwise he was alone. He didn’t want to see anyone at all besides Christina – no one else seemed to share in his grief other than her. The Baron’s family especially could know nothing of what truly happened – what chance was there that they would take the side of a stranger and servant over a man to whom they were related? Not that Harry would have wanted to see them anyway – they were strangers to him. No one in the world knew him as well as George did – not even his mother – and now he was dead. These thoughts would run around his head, bringing with them fresh waves of tears that made his entire body shudder. When she brought provisions, Christina would usually remain until Harry had had something to drink, but otherwise she left him to grieve in private. Often Harry would exhaust himself with sobs that he fell asleep, and he frequently awoke with a headache, but he was too sad to care. The pain from losing George was far greater than any physical pain that he could have felt in his body.

The day of the wedding arrived – for of course it had not been postponed, why would it have been – and Harry found himself having to pretend to be filled with joy for his mother, as he watched her join herself to the man that had ended all his plans for future happiness. Dressed in his finest clothes and stood at the front of the church, a smile painted on his face – perhaps his façade was sufficient to fool his mother, though his eyes must have given him away to anyone else who gave him more than a fleeting glance. His whole body seemed to ache with the pain of his loss, a pain which could only be emphasised by the sight of the Baron. When he was at home, he could avoid him by remaining within his room, and could receive comforting words from Christina, but he was deprived of both of these at a time that should have been joyous for everyone.

The Baron’s brother and his family left the house a few weeks after the wedding, which allowed Harry to leave his room but continue in solitude. Somewhat to his surprise, Harry found himself working far more than he had ever done while George was alive: not because he was free from his distracting presence, but, while working, he found himself consumed in the mundanity of business, his work temporarily numbing his mind to the pain he felt. There were, however, still days when he couldn’t face getting out of bed, and on these he was grateful for the support of Christina, who would bring him warming drinks and food to eat.

“He was a good man,” Christina said on one such occasion. “I worked with him and thought of him as a friend.”  
“He was so kind to me.” Harry replied in a quiet voice.  
“He wasn’t just a friend to you, was he?” Christina asked gently. “I know he cared for you deeply, Mr. Jorgensen.”  
“We were in love,” Harry said, in a voice even more quiet than before. “That was the last thing he told me. I don’t think I ever told him I loved him when he was alive.” Harry paused to swallow the lump in his throat. “I never told him I loved him.”  
“But you did, Mr. Jorgensen,” Christina replied, perching on the side of his bed, and putting a comforting arm around his shoulder. “You might not have used those exact words, but you told him. He knew how you felt, Mr. Jorgensen, I know it. You didn’t need to say so for him to understand.”  
Tears were rolling down Harry’s face. “Thank you, Christina.”  
Christina made no reply, instead giving Harry a comforting squeeze.  
Harry paused a moment and took a few deep breaths. “What did he say about me?” he asked in a quiet voice.  
“He said you were a good friend of his,” Christina began cautiously. “I asked if you were close, and he confirmed it. He said that you cared for him more than anyone had done in his life, and that he cared for you too. I didn’t want to pry too much, but I could tell from the way he spoke that he loved you, and you loved him.”  
“Why didn’t I tell him?” Harry whimpered. “I had so many opportunities that I never took. Why did I never have the confidence to tell him what was always in my mind?”  
“Because you had so little time,” Christina replied, beginning to cry herself. “Every moment you spent together was in secret. You had to treasure every second. There was no time for grand confessions. You could only feel.”  
“All I can do now is feel,” Harry whispered. “And it hurts.”

Time passed, Harry adjusted to his new life, but the pain did not lessen. He could not forget that the Baron was living, unpunished, unbothered, in the same house where George had once lived, and where he still was. He could spend most of his days shut up in his study, where he was unlikely to accidentally encounter the Baron, but sometimes the Baron would pay him a visit, which brought up more unpleasant emotions for Harry. To make matters worse, his mother’s health began to deteriorate, gradually at first, but with such a certainty and determination that it was clear that its nature was one from which she would not recover. It was protracted in length, and Harry abandoned his work to help her, nursing her every day that the Baron was not with her. Caring for his mother began to consume him, making Harry oblivious to the passage of time – whether it was several weeks, several months, or even several years he knew not; days blurred into one another, weeks became a jumble, some minutes seemed to last several hours while several days could pass by in the blink of an eye. His mother became weaker and weaker, her body frailer and frailer, her mind blanker and blanker, until, eventually, the illness took her.

The death of his mother did not hurt him as much as the death of George – the latter was sudden and cruel for them both, the former expected, and seen as a release from the illness that had troubled her for so long. With her gone, Harry’s days were free again to do as he wished, but there was nothing that he wished to do. His life had been centred around spending time with George, then his work, then his mother, but two of them had been taken away from him and he had no inclination to work anymore. The Baron’s presence seemed even more prominent now that there were so few other people within the walls, imposing his unwanted presence on Harry nigh on every day. As Harry had feared, the Baron was an unpleasant man to live with. Under his care, Harry became thoroughly miserable.

“Henry!” the Baron’s voice rang down the passage. “Henry Fitzroy, where are you?”  
Harry sighed deeply and began to tidy his desk.  
“Henry Fitzroy!” the Baron barked.  
“It’s Harry Jorgensen,” Harry muttered under his breath. “Mr. Jorgensen, or Harry to my friends – not that I have many anymore.” Harry stood up and opened his study door, running his hand over the dent in the doorframe made by George’s head. “I’m here, sir,” he called out. “In my study, as always.”  
“I would rather you call me father,” the Baron barked, striding around the corner to face Harry. “Or Baron Fitzroy, since that is my name.”  
“I would rather you called me Mr. Jorgensen,” Harry muttered. “Since that is my name. I never have, and never will be, Henry Fitzroy.”  
“Henry,” the Baron snapped. “I have a task for you, boy.”  
“I’m busy working.” Harry scowled – the Baron was often in the habit of treating him as a child, interrupting him while he was working with some menial task.  
“Well, your work will have to wait. I’m sure that what I have for you to do is far more important.”  
It wasn’t, but Harry thought it best to do as the Baron asked, to keep him quiet. Occurrences such as this were far too common, with Harry’s suffering increased by hearing himself called by the name of his lover’s murderer. With every encounter, his hatred for the Baron grew, and as his hatred for the Baron grew, so did his discomfort with his home. It hadn’t felt like a home when George died, and since the passing of his mother it began to feel cold and unwelcoming. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand to live there.

“Mr. Jorgensen?”  
Harry sat up in his bed. “Yes, Christina?”  
“Are you unhappy, sir?” Christina was sat on the chair beside his bed, holding a tray of hot drinks.  
“Terribly,” Harry sighed, picking up a mug and taking a sip. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”  
“Well, I have a proposition for you, Mr. Jorgensen, if you’re interested.” Christina took the other mug off the tray and sipped from it.  
“What is it?”  
“My brother has invited me to visit him, and I was wondering if you would like to join me.”  
Harry took a thoughtful sip. “That is a most interesting proposition, Christina,” he mused. “Perhaps a change in situation may benefit me. I think I might join you. Surely it can’t be worse than being stuck here with the Baron – I don’t think anything can.”  
“Well then, I’ll help you pack. I’m sure my brother won’t mind if I bring you with me – he’s always got all sorts of visitors over. Another one won’t bother him.”  
Harry took another sip. “When do we leave?”  
“This afternoon. Sorry if it’s last-minute.”  
“I don’t mind – it’s not like I have too much to miss anyway. Everything I ever loved has gone, and everything is a reminder of what I lost. I can’t escape my suffering while I live between these walls.”  
“I’ll start packing your clothes, then.”  
Harry smiled slightly as Christina began to pack his things.

The rest of the day was spent in preparation for the visit. Once he had dressed himself, Harry helped Christina finish his packing, then headed to his study to write a note to leave for the Baron – he didn’t want to explain himself verbally to the Baron, as he feared the Baron would deny his consent. Harry’s note was short but expressed his intentions to pay a visit to a friend of his, and his belief that he did not need to ask permission to pay this visit from the Baron as he was of age and the Baron was merely his mother’s widower. Harry left the note on his desk, writing the Baron’s name in large letters on the flap and headed to his room to see whether Christina was ready. She was, so the two of them took their luggage to the carriage and prepared to set off.

They arrived at Christina’s brother’s house late at night. He answered the door himself, although his clothes were in a state of disarray and his hair was dishevelled. “Christina!” he cried, giving her a hug. “You’re earlier than expected! Come on in!”  
“Thank you,” Christina replied. “I’ve missed you.”  
“I see you’ve brought a friend with you,” he continued, upon seeing Harry. “I’m James Abbot, who are you?”  
“Harry Jorgensen,” Harry replied, extending a hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Abbot.”  
James took Harry’s hand in a comfortingly firm grip and shook it. “I’m delighted to meet you, Harry Jorgensen. It’s always a pleasure for me to meet one of Christina’s friends, especially one as handsome as yourself.”  
Harry smiled slightly at the compliment and entered the house.  
“So, what brings you here, young Harry?” James asked as he showed his guests through to the sitting room.  
“I needed a break,” Harry sighed, sitting wearily on a chair. “I’ve been having a difficult time lately.”  
“That’s terrible,” James said sympathetically. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
“Maybe not right now,” Harry replied honestly. “I’m quite tired. Perhaps tomorrow?”  
“We don’t have to talk about it ever if you don’t want. I just thought you might want to.”  
“So, James,” Christina said. “How have you been keeping? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.”  
“I’ve been doing quite well, as it happens. Nothing to complain about. It’s all been pretty quiet over here.”  
“Have you had many friends over?”  
“No more than usual.” James laughed.  
“Well, I’d love to catch up,” Christina sighed. “But it’s getting late – so maybe tomorrow morning?”  
“Of course!” James sprung up from his chair. “You two must be exhausted! Let me show you to your rooms.”  
“Thank you so much.” Harry whispered, unsure of whether he spoke to Christina or James.

James led them both up a narrow staircase and down a dimly lit passage to where the guest rooms were. He showed Christina hers first – a small room adjoining James’. Harry’s was further down the corridor, behind a heavy wooden door, which creaked a little as it was opened. The room itself was much smaller than Harry’s, with a small bed pushed up against the wall, but he did not mind – here he was away from the Baron, which meant that there was a chance he could be happy for the first time since George’s death. As Harry was thinking over this, James handed him a lamp, wished him a good night, then retired to his own room. Harry walked towards the bed, closing the door behind him, and sat upon the mattress, resting the lamp on the small table beside him. Sighing deeply, he removed his shoes and thought about the circumstances that had brought him to this strange place. At one point in his life, he had been happy, with a fond mother and the company of a man who loved him. Time and the Baron had robbed him of both, leaving him feeling alone. Christina became his only friend in the world, and now he was in the house of her brother, whom he did not know, because it was better for him to be there than in his family home. With another sigh, he hung his coat on the back of the door and climbed into bed for some well-needed sleep.

He awoke in the morning feeling refreshed, dressed himself, and made his way downstairs. James was waiting for him at the foot of the staircase to show Harry though to the dining room for breakfast. After they had finished, they retired again to the sitting room.  
“So, Harry,” James began in an upbeat tone. “How do you know Christina?”  
“She is my maid,” Harry answered. “Although her friendship has been invaluable to me during these most troubling times. I do not know how I would have been able to cope without her.”  
“It is most wondrous that you had her support then,” James replied. “So, you need never know the answer to that question.”  
“It is indeed,” Harry agreed. “I have lost so many of the people who cared for me, it is really a wonder that I still have Christina to look after me.”  
“That’s terrible, Harry, you poor thing.” James seemed genuinely upset. “Have you any family at all remaining?”  
“My mother married Baron Fitzroy before she died. He still lives, but he was not kind to me. It was he…” Harry paused to swallow the lump in his throat. “It was he who killed…” Harry was fighting back the tears, his voice barely audible. “It was he who killed George.”  
“George?” James asked gently. “Who is George?”  
“George was my…” Harry began, but his voice failed him.  
“George was his friend,” Christina finished. “They were very close. Inseparable, even. I never saw two people more devoted to each other.”  
“You must have been quite heartbroken to hear of his death.”  
“I didn’t just hear of his death… I watched him die, James. I watched the life drain from his eyes before me, held his hand as his life ended, washed his blood from my shirt when he was gone.”  
“Good Lord!” James muttered, slightly under his breath. There was a pause, as James processed what he had heard, and Harry tried to compose himself. Before anyone could speak, the door opened, and a man entered. “Oh, sorry,” he said, when he saw Harry and Christina. “I didn’t realise we had company, James. I’ll leave.”  
“Nonsense!” James cried. “Come on in, Charlie. This is my sister, Christina, and her friend, Harry. Harry, Christina, this is Charles, my…”  
“Butler,” Charles finished. “I’m his butler. Pleasure to meet you Harry, Christina.” Charles bowed politely to each as he said their names and took a seat beside James. “So, what brings you here, Harry?” Charles asked.  
“It’s a sad story, I’m afraid,” James replied, seeing Harry’s face. “Harry was just telling us about how he watched his close friend die.”  
“George,” Harry interrupted, quietly. “His name was George.”  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles asked cautiously. “Or would you rather not discuss something so personal with a stranger?”  
Normally, Harry would rather have not discussed something so personal with a stranger, but something about Charles inspired trust in him. “I don’t mind,” Harry replied. “I want to talk about him. I miss him.” Harry swallowed a lump in his throat.  
“How did he die?” Charles asked. “Was he ill?”  
“He was murdered,” Harry stated. “My stepfather, Baron Fitzroy, murdered him ten days before he married my mother.” Harry paused, as he remembered that day. “He was protecting me,” Harry continued, tears running down his face. “The Baron was attacking me, so George jumped in to protect me, and the Baron hit him so hard against the doorframe that it killed him.”  
“Didn’t your mother hear about this?” Charles asked, concern visible in his face. “Surely she wouldn’t have married him if she knew he’d tried to hurt you.”  
“She didn’t know…” Harry began, before continuing. “Her mind wasn’t entirely sound – she was becoming forgetful, and it was likely that she wouldn’t have believed whoever told her anyway. She was determined to marry the Baron.”  
“It must have been dreadful to have to live with the Baron after that.” Charles remarked sympathetically.  
“It was, especially after the death of my mother.”  
“You cared deeply for George, didn’t you?” Charles asked.  
“He was the best of men,” Harry answered. “I miss him terribly.”  
“It must be so hard to lose someone you love,” James remarked. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost Charles.”  
“So, you two are good friends?” Harry asked. “Charles isn’t just your butler?”  
“It’s pretty obvious that they are,” Christina remarked. “Though James had already told me, so I didn’t exactly have to work anything out.”  
“Yes,” James sighed, stretching his limbs out. “I chose to inform my sister of our relationship.”  
“And Harry, apparently.” Charles added, seeming a little agitated.  
“You needn’t worry about me,” Harry said. “George and I shared the same sort of friendship you and James seem to have. He was my butler too.”  
“Oh!” Charles declared in realisation.  
“You took your time, dearest,” James chuckled, ruffling George’s hair. “I thought he’d made his feelings for George obvious, especially when you asked if he cared for him. I thought you’d worked it out before me when I heard you ask that.”  
“As did I,” Harry added, with a hint of a smile on his face. “I feared that I had given myself away.”  
“You needn’t feel ashamed for it,” James said encouragingly. “You cannot help whom you fall in love with.”  
“I know that it cannot be helped,” Harry replied, sadly. “But it was our relationship that cost my George his life.”  
“Good lord, man!” James declared, getting out of his seat, and approaching Harry. “The more I hear of your history, the worse I feel for you. Do you want a hug?”  
“More than anything.” Harry admitted, standing up. James gave him the warmest hug he had received in years, making Harry feel comforted and happy. Even though he didn’t know James, Harry felt himself warming to him already.  
“Well,” Christina began, after they had broken apart. “What have you been getting up to, James? I never did hear the full history last night – we were far too tired.”  
“We’ve just had a visit from a group of friends, haven’t we Charlie?”  
“Completely full to the brim we were. I’ve no idea where you find these people, James. You barely seem to go out of the house – I feel like I have a housewife!”  
“Oh really?” James smiled fondly. “What about you? You didn’t even go to the door to greet our guests.”  
“It was the middle of the night. I was asleep. If you wanted me to answer the door, you should have woken me.”  
“But you looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”  
“Is that your excuse?”  
The conversation continued in this vein for some time, its light-heartedness cheering Harry.

The company of James and Charles greatly improved Harry’s spirits; he soon began to value their friendship almost as much as he did Christina’s. They were excellent hosts and didn’t make Harry feel as though he was intruding on them at all. After a few weeks, Christina felt she had to return to her work, and Harry decided to remain with James and Charles, as he did not wish to be reunited with the Baron. He settled quite well into their home, finding his only regret to be the absence of Christina, although her absence was partially compensated for by her regular correspondence with James. She kept Harry informed of goings-on at his house, remarking that the Baron did not seem to object to Harry’s absence.

Christina had told Harry that James was in the habit of inviting visitors, and the truth of this was demonstrated to Harry shortly after when a party of James’ friends arrived for a visit. They arrived early in the evening, as Harry, Charles, and James were chatting in the sitting room. James answered the door, leaving Harry and Charles to await their introduction. They could hear James talking to them indistinctly in the passage as they were invited inside. The guests were ushered into the sitting room to be introduced to be Harry and Charles. Charles, assuming his role of butler, stood from his chair and held the door open for them as they walked in. “May I introduce you to my friends?” James began. “Meet William, John, Edward, and Stephen. William, John, Edward, Stephen, meet Harry, my guest, and Charles, my butler.”  
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Harry said with a bow.  
“Charming,” one of the men said. “I’m sure.”  
Harry politely offered him a seat, while James and Charles attended to the other guests.  
“Are you Stephen?” Harry asked.  
“William,” William replied. “So, Harry, how do you know James?”  
“His sister is a good friend of mine,” Harry explained. “She invited me to join her on a visit here, and I enjoyed it so much that I decided not to leave.”  
“Wasn’t there much for you at home?” William paused. “Not that I mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me, not if it’s too personal.”  
“I don’t mind telling you some of it,” Harry replied, trying to put William at ease. “My mother died, you see, and I did not get on too well with my stepfather. Before he married my mother, he… he did something that upset me terribly, and seeing him every day was a constant reminder of my upset.”  
“Oh, you poor thing. That’s so sad.” William placed a comforting arm on Harry’s elbow.  
“I’ve learnt to live with it. What about you? How do you know James?”  
“Ah, well, I am less acquainted with James than his good friend Charles. I first came here on his invitation, which is how I met James.”  
“They are a most wondrous pair, aren’t they?”  
“Indeed. Such a charming couple – I visit them as often as I can.”  
“I quite understand your feelings – I have lengthened my stay here in order to spend more time with them, as well as the benefits I receive by spending less time with the Baron Fitzroy.”  
“The Baron Fitzroy is your stepfather?” William asked, aghast.  
“Yes, he is.” Harry said, puzzled as to how William knew the Baron.  
“That’s awful – I hear I killed a man.”  
“You did? What do you know of this?” Harry was curious as to how much of the story had got out – or whether the Baron had actually killed before.  
“Apparently, he heard that this man had taken a male lover and was so enraged by this that he murdered him. I don’t know what happened to the lover – maybe he got away. Perhaps the Baron murdered him too but managed to keep that a secret. I’ve only really heard rumours about that, you see.”  
“Do you credit this story?” Harry asked, trying to keep his composure.  
“I heard it from a reliable source, although, as I said, there were several details which I am missing. Given your acquaintance with the Baron, perhaps you might know more of this.”  
“It is certainly in line with my knowledge of his character,” Harry remarked, trying his hardest not to betray any emotion. “He certainly was upset whenever anyone defied him.”  
“But to kill a man for his choice of company – surely that is far too extreme a reaction for something that is none of his business.”  
“Well, it didn’t entirely happen like that, although his motives were pretty much as you outlined them. The reality was possibly more dramatic than that.”  
William seemed fascinated. “You were there?”  
“That I was, William. In fact, it was I the Baron was initially trying to assault. His victim only entered the fight in my defence.”  
“That must have been so awful for you.”  
“It was! I had to watch my George die, as the Baron stood there, judging me. I had to attend my mother’s wedding less than a fortnight later and watch the destroyer of my happiness wed himself to my mother. I had to live with him as I watched my mother slowly deteriorate until she died. Until Christina – that’s James’ sister – invited me to join her on this visit, I had to live with him, with no friends of my own, bar Christina, who was occupied for much of the day with her work. I suffered under such great dejection of spirits, William, that I do not know how much longer I could have lasted, had Christina not kindly invited me to join her on this visit to her brother.”  
“Oh no,” William cried sympathetically. “That’s awful – how could anyone possibly put you through such an appalling thing? You seem like such a nice young man – for him to force you to endure such suffering is unforgivable.”  
“It is not really his fault that my mother died – it was age that took her in the end. At least he made her happy because she really did want to marry him. She looked forward to the wedding with much excitement and he was never cruel to her.”  
“But for him to take a life – the life of one so close to you – that is dreadful of him. I am indignant on your behalf.”  
“Do not trouble yourself, William.” Harry put his hand on William’s arm. “If you continue in this fashion, we may begin to cause a scene.”  
“I don’t care if we cause a scene!” William declared, getting up from his seat. “I’m upset for you, Harry, and I don’t care if everyone else finds out. Let them know how I feel about you, Harry. I don’t care!” William stormed out of the room; a silence fell among everyone, allowing them to hear the sound of the front door opening and closing as William left the house.  
“Good lord, Harry,” James cried jovially. “What on earth did you say to William?”  
“I just told him about my stepfather.” Harry responded, bemused.  
“I think he likes you, Harry.” James smirked.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, with Harry and Charles retiring early to bed, leaving James to entertain his guests alone. As Harry lay in his bed, he thought over his conversation with William. Something about William had enchanted him, so his sudden disappearance perplexed him greatly; that it had happened while he was talking about the Baron suggested that it was in some way related to the story he had told, but his indignation suggested that he had in some way set out to right the wrongs in Harry’s life. What confused Harry was that he had no idea what William could possibly do to resolve any of the issues he had raised during their discussion. These thoughts were still whirling around his head as he fell asleep.

Harry awoke to the sound of someone frantically knocking on his door. Confused, he rose from his bed to see what the palaver was. He opened the door and saw, to his surprise, William stood there, looking flushed. Instinctively, he showed William into the room and shut the door behind him. “What brings you here at this hour, William?” Harry asked.  
“I have important news to bring you,” William declared, sounding somewhat out of breath. “Baron Fitzroy – your stepfather – is dead.”  
Overcome with shock, Harry fainted, William catching him as he fell.

When Harry came to, he was lying on his bed, above the covers, with William sat beside him. “Are you alright?” William asked.  
“I think so.” Harry replied, pushing himself up into a seated position.  
“I can get some help if you want it – I would have gone to get James if you hadn’t woken up by now.”  
Harry shook his head. “I think I’ll be alright in a minute. Was I dreaming, or did you really come in here to tell me that the Baron is dead?”  
William smiled, his excitement visible. “I did indeed come to tell you that.”  
“What… what happened? And why on earth did you disappear so suddenly last night? I was quite at a loss to understand what was happening.”  
William chuckled excitedly. “Well, you see, I was rather upset by what you told me of your dealings with the Baron, so I thought I would do something about it.”  
“You didn’t.” Harry gasped.  
“I’ve not told you the full story yet.” William replied. Harry didn’t sound particularly upset with him, so he decided to continue with his story. “Well, I set out, found a horse-”  
“You stole someone’s horse?!”  
“I put it back! Anyway, I _borrowed_ a horse and rode with great haste to the residence of Baron Fitzroy – I had heard of its location from a friend of mine, so I was able to find it – and located the Baron. When I found him, I declared that I had come to deliver justice for the life he had taken – I had forgotten the name, and only remembered on the journey back that you said he was called George – so he may have been somewhat confused. However, he accepted the challenge I had presented to him, in an attempt to prove himself to be a man of honour. Now, I thought he was going to suggest that we go for pistols at dawn – as most people would do - but he proposed swords and gave me only ten minutes to prepare. Fortunately, Christina was able to procure me a weapon, so I was able to face the Baron properly armed. We met at the arranged location to settle our dispute and drew swords. The duel was over much more quickly than I had expected – I think that perhaps it wasn’t the flesh wound I gave him, as it was quite minor, but rather the exertion and excitement gave him a heart attack and that was what ended his life. A doctor was called for, and he declared that the Baron was dead.”  
“That’s more than he did for George.” Harry muttered.  
“I then rode back in haste, returned the horse, and rushed here to tell you the news.”  
“You… you did all that for me?”  
“Of course! I also did it for integrity and justice: I think it a most dreadful thing that such a crime should go unpunished for so long only because its perpetrator is a baron. It’s a disgrace to everything I hold dear.”  
“But… what am I supposed to do now? Should I return to my mother’s house?”  
“Do you want to go back?” William asked. “If you do, then go, if you do not, then stay.”  
“I would like to go back,” Harry deliberated. “But maybe not right now. I do have some business to settle there, so I would have to go there at some point anyway. I would like to stay here for the time being, though. I do not think it would be a good reflection on my character if I were to return to the home of a recently deceased man in order to settle some business.”  
“Urgh, business,” William sighed. “Why must we always be settling business?”  
“I do not hate business as much as I once did – at one time it provided a pleasant escape for me from my suffering. I regret having neglected it for so long, as it has a habit of mounting rapidly when ignored.” Harry swung his legs off the edge of the bed and stood up. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet, so William gave him his hand to hold. “Thank you.” Harry looked down at himself. “I’m not dressed!” He cried. “You awoke so early that I had not time to dress myself.”  
“I was not so very early – when I came to the door, Charles was already up and dressed and answered the door almost immediately. James was at breakfast with some of his guests – it was only you who was asleep at that time.”  
“But I retired to bed early. Surely I should have been the first to rise.”  
“It doesn’t always follow – you’ve had a hard life. It’s bound to take its toll on you. I’m not surprised you need more sleep than the others.”  
“I suppose that’s true,” Harry agreed, slipping on a pair of breeches. “And I have had trouble sleeping in the past.” As Harry began to button his shirt, someone knocked on his door. “You get that.” He said to William, who opened the door. It was James.  
“William!” he cried, striding into the room. “I heard from Charlie that you had come back but I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not. Now I see that I missed you because you had business with Harry. Lovely to see you both getting on so well.”  
“I would have introduced myself earlier, only Harry was indisposed.”  
“It was William – he came here with some rather shocking news.”  
“Goodness, William – I’m not sure I’ll let you back here if you’re going to go around upsetting my guests like that!” James smiled at the end, to make it clear he was not being serious.  
“My information was hardly upsetting to him – the word he used was shocking.”  
“William brought me news of the Baron’s death – shocking, yes, but hardly unwelcome.”  
“Good lord! Are you serious?”  
“Pour me a drink and I’ll tell you the whole story.”  
“Now, now, William, I don’t think you’ve had breakfast yet, and I know I certainly haven’t. I think we had better eat first.”  
“I suppose you are right, Harry. I’ve just been far too excited to even think of eating.”  
“I’ll leave you two to it, then, and I’ll hear the full story after breakfast.” James began to leave the room.  
“What about that drink?”  
“You, William, are unbelievable.” James chuckled to himself as he walked away.

William kept good his promise, and after breakfast he sat in the sitting room with a drink and recounted the tale to whoever was listening. Harry sat next to him, sipping tea, and watching William’s animated expressions, occasionally interrupting if he deviated at all from his original account of events.  
“So that’s what you were up to last night,” James chuckled. “I did wonder.”  
“I think we all did,” Charles added. “It was hard to ignore his dramatic exit yesterday evening.”  
“Subtlety is hardly one of my primary characteristics,” William replied. “I thought you knew that already, Charles.”  
“We all knew that.” Edward muttered to himself.  
“Now, now, Edward,” James said jovially. “We’re all friends here.”  
“I never said anything to the contrary.” Edward replied.  
“Clearly Edward’s remark suggests that he knows me well, and if he dislikes me, he’s done a good job of hiding it so far.”  
“I don’t see how anyone could dislike William,” Harry said quietly. “He’s charming.”  
“You flatter me,” William replied, blushing slightly. “I’m sure there are many people who are insensible to my charms.”  
“Then they are devoid of taste.” Harry was in earnest.  
“Do you really think so?” William was taken aback.  
“Of course! You are charming, amiable, and handsome. So far, I have found you to be such pleasant company that I cannot understand how any person cannot like you.”  
“Well,” William replied, somewhat softly. “I suppose that some people’s taste is not as refined as yours.”  
Harry was unsure of what to say, so instead stared at William’s face and hoped that someone else would speak.  
“Well, I’m not going to dispute the charms of our guest,” James said, after a short pause. “But I think that perhaps, given the presence of other people, we should maybe change the topic to something which we can all be equally involved in – or move the conversation to somewhere the two of you can discuss it alone.”  
“Well, there’s nothing to stop you having your own conversation,” William retorted. “Especially as Harry and I are sat on our own chair.”  
“My apologies.”  
“Anyway,” Harry continued. “I’ve just realised that you can’t have slept at all. Aren’t you tired?”  
“Now that the excitement is beginning to wear off,” William admitted. “I must say that I am beginning to feel fatigued by my nightly adventure.”  
“You poor man.” Harry gently stroked William’s cheek with his thumb. “Has James shown you to your room yet?”  
“I believe that I left before he was able to allocate me somewhere to reside during my stay. I was perhaps overly hasty in my departure, but my judgement was somewhat overwhelmed by my emotional reaction.”  
“I am not going to fault your judgement in any way, William. Rather, I am going to remedy the impact it has had on you.”  
“Do you know which room is mine?”  
“I do not, as I was the first to retire and the last to rise, but I will allow you to borrow my bed for as long as you require use of it.”  
“Why thank you, Harry. You are the most generous of men.”  
Harry blushed slightly and escorted William to his room. William slipped his boots off, climbed into bed, and lay his head on the pillow. Harry remained with him until he fell asleep, then returned to the sitting room. James gave him a small smile when he came in.  
“You seem to be getting on well with William, Harry,” he said, as Harry came in. “I am glad to see it.”  
“William certainly seems capable of making an impression in a short space of time,” Harry replied, returning to his seat. “So far, I am growing to like him.”

“It’s the Baron’s funeral next week,” Harry said one evening, as he and William were chatting alone in James’ drawing room. “I received word from Christina this morning.”  
“Are you planning on going?” William asked, shifting in his seat so as to be closer to Harry.  
“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea – I didn’t exactly like the man.” Harry leaned his head on William’s chest. “I also feel as though it might in some way be disrespectful to George – I had to leave his funeral early because the Baron demanded my presence.”  
William paused for a moment to think, before saying “I think you should go. Yes. I think you should go, dressed in your finest clothes – not your funeral clothes, mind – and you should bring me with you as your guest.”  
“Why do you think I should do that?” Harry asked, absently ruffling William’s hair with one hand.  
“I think it would be a good statement – showing up to the funeral of the man who killed your lover with the man who killed him. And the lack of proper funeral attire shows that you do not mourn him, while the fine attire demonstrates that you are showing the proper respect to such an event as a funeral.”  
“That actually sounds like a good idea. I think I’ll do that. Given the Baron’s close relationship to me, it might cause a stir for me to not be in attendance, but his high status would surely attract many people, which would also allow us to make an impact.” Harry shifted himself so that his head was laying on William’s lap.  
“I am a little worried as to whether attending the funeral will be too upsetting for you. I do not wish for you to upset yourself unnecessarily merely to cause a stir.” William gently brushed his hand against Harry’s cheek. “Your wellbeing is my priority. As much as I want to disrupt the funeral of the Baron, it would not be good vengeance if you were to be upset by the whole affair.”  
“I think I shall be able to handle myself, if you are there with me.”  
“Oh, you are a terrible flirt, Harry…” William shifted in his seat to face Harry properly, causing Harry to have to sit up straight. “What is your last name, Harry? I don’t think anyone ever told me.”  
“It’s Jorgensen. Harry Jorgensen – though Harry is actually short for Henry. I don’t much like people calling me Henry though, other than my mother. The Baron took it upon himself to call me Henry Fitzroy, which I thought was most infuriating.”  
“That is shocking behaviour, especially after what he did to George. The more I hear of this man, the gladder I am that I was able to challenge him in defence of your honour.”  
“I appreciate your sentiment, William, but I was rather expecting that you would tell me your own last name in return.”  
“It’s Anderson – I’m William Anderson, but _you_ can call me Will.”  
“Maybe I will, Mr. Anderson.”  
William gave Harry a strange look and Harry started to giggle.

The day of the funeral arrived; Harry and William spent the morning preparing for the event. The rest of the visitors had left, so it was just the two of them and their hosts, which allowed them more space to discuss their plans alone.  
“Are you sure you’re still okay with going?” William asked, as he helped Harry brush the dust off his coat. “Because we don’t have to go, if you don’t feel up for it.”  
“I’ll be fine,” Harry replied, straightening William’s collar. “Honestly, you don’t need to worry. I’ve had time to think over my decision, and I feel like this is the right choice for me.”  
“Well, as long as you still feel confident with your decision – if you change your mind at any time, just tell me, and we can stop.”  
“Thank you.” Harry replied, somewhat quietly. He paused, his hands still at William’s collar, then asked “Would you mind coming back with me afterwards?”  
“Of course,” William replied cheerfully. “You shouldn’t have to ask.”  
“Not here,” Harry continued, a little nervous. “Back to my place – my mother’s house. I received a letter from the Baron’s solicitor to say that he had named me as his heir, which was surprising, given his blatant dislike for me.”  
“That’s fine. Honestly, Harry. Sometimes I think you worry too much – but then I remember that you are far more aware than me of how cruel the world can be, and I think that maybe you are right to be worried.”  
“As long as I have the support of good friends such as yourself, I have little to worry about – besides the chance that I may lose them.”  
“Loss is inevitable, Harry – we must learn to live with it.”  
“I suppose you are right, Will, but that does not stop it from hurting.”  
“I never said it would, dear Harry.” William took Harry’s hands in his own. “I never said it would.”

Harry sustained a stoic silence throughout the funeral. The only evidence that he felt any emotion was his hand, which would occasionally seek William’s to receive the comfort of a gentle squeeze. There were few tears shed at the funeral, although there were a great many in attendance. When it had finished, Harry was approached by one of the guests.  
“Mr. Jorgensen?” she asked.  
“I am he,” Harry replied. “To whom do I speak?”  
“Matilda,” she replied. “I was married to one of the Baron’s nephews.”  
“Pleasure to meet you, Matilda,” Harry said. “May I introduce you to my good friend and companion, Mr William Anderson.”  
“Charming to meet you, Matilda.” William said, kissing her hand.  
“My pleasure, I’m sure.” Matilda turned to Harry. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mr. Jorgensen. From what I understand, your relationship with the Baron was far from cordial. I never thought that someone with your history with the Baron would want to mourn him.”  
“That’s as may be – but it does not change his close relationship to me. It would have been quite improper for me to not attend.”  
“Harry is _very_ concerned about doing what is proper.” William added, slipping his arm into Harry’s.  
“But why did you leave his protection?” Matilda asked. “Given he died shortly after you left – from heart troubles nonetheless – surely it would have been proper for you to remain with him. The loss of your company must have troubled him greatly.”  
“But he didn’t die of heart troubles,” William replied. “Well, not entirely. Had the weakness of his flesh not taken him, I would have damn well run him through. Whoever told you the history of his death clearly neglected a few details.”  
Much to their surprise, Matilda smiled. “I did wonder who it was that took it upon himself to challenge the Baron – I thought that maybe it was you, Mr. Jorgensen, but the timing of it did not seem to fit with my knowledge of your past dealings with him.”  
“Yes,” William responded, a sly grin growing on his face. “It was not Mr. Jorgensen who personally challenged the Baron, although I would not wish to suggest any dishonour on his good name by suggesting that he relies upon the interference of strangers to fight his battles. Mr. Jorgensen is an honourable fellow.”  
Matilda bowed in response, which Harry and William took as a signal to leave her.

It was a fine day, so Harry and William elected to walk from the funeral to the house; notwithstanding, their journey was a short one. For some reason, Harry felt compelled to go in via the back door, and they met Christina shortly afterwards.  
“Harry!” she cried. “How wonderful to see you.”  
“It is a pleasure to meet you too, Christina,” Harry replied, giving Christina a hearty shake of the hand. “And may I introduce you to Mr. Anderson – he is a friend of Charles. Will, this is Christina, James’ sister. Have you two met?”  
“I believe we have, briefly,” Christina said. “What brings you here, Harry?”  
“Can a man not enter a house he legally owns without question?” Harry asked, half in jest. “If you are wondering, I have come to give Mr. Anderson a tour.”  
“Would you like me to join you?”  
“It’s very kind of you to offer, but I think the fewer people with me, the better for all of us.”  
“I understand. Well, enjoy your tour anyway. It’s good to have you back, Mr. Jorgensen.”  
Harry thanked her and led William up the stairs. They walked along the passage in silence, until they reached a door, which Harry opened. “It was in this room that I first saw George. I was chatting with my mother, and he came in quite by accident. It was not his countenance that caught my attention, but the spirited way in which he made his apology to my mother.” William made no reply, instead silently following Harry as he moved on to the next room. “This was the room in which we had our first conversation alone together. On that occasion, it was I who entered the room on a false errand, although I must confess it was somewhat by design.” Harry’s voice was becoming thicker with every sentence he spoke. He had to take a small pause before they went into the next room. “This is my study, the room where we spent most of our time together. He would often invent some reason to come in here and talk to me.” Harry chuckled slightly at the memory, although the smile did not quite reach his eyes. “There was a time when that doorknob was the best polished doorknob in the whole house.” Harry sighed a little to himself as he walked over to his desk. “I spent a lot of time at this desk after he died as well.” Harry walked over to the door and gently brushed the frame with his fingers. “This is the dent he made when he…” Harry’s voice was cut off by a sob. Seeing that he could not finish, William walked over to Harry and gently brushed his hand with his fingers; Harry took it and held it in a firm grip.  
“I can’t bring him back,” William said after a long pause. “I can try make his loss hurt less, but I can’t bring him back. If I could, I would.”  
Harry said nothing in response, instead squeezing William’s hand to show he appreciated the sentiment. After a short pause, Harry turned to face William and collapsed sobbing onto his chest. William put his arms around him in a comforting hug.

Once Harry had composed himself, he led William on a continuation of his tour. When they reached the last room, Harry let William in and closed the door behind him. “This is my bedroom,” Harry said, after a long pause. “I shared many precious moments with George here, although many were tinged with fear of discovery.”  
“Oh, you poor thing.” William said, putting a comforting hand on Harry’s elbow.  
“I am not afraid now.” Harry turned to face William. “I am the head of the household. There is no one with any power over me.” Harry brushed William’s cheek with his hand. “No one but you, Will.” Harry leaned forward and kissed William.

It was their first kiss and one which William had eagerly awaited since their first meeting. He grasped Harry close to him, and Harry melted into his arms. It had been so long since he had been kissed like that, and it felt so good. Harry didn’t want to let him go.

There was a knock at the door. Harry went to answer it and saw that it was Christina. “Delightful to see you, Christina,” Harry said, shaking her hand. “Please come in.”  
“Oh no, don’t let me trouble you,” Christina said. “I only wanted to say hello.”  
“Well, hello then, Christina.” Harry replied.  
“Hello Christina,” William said, walking to stand behind Harry. “I have heard such wonderful things about you from Harry.”  
“Exaggerated I’m sure.”  
“Not at all! You’ve been a good friend to me Christina, don’t you forget that.”  
“Thank you, Harry.” Christina smiled, blushing slightly, then turned to leave. “Anyway, I think I’d better leave you two chaps to it – whatever ‘it’ is.”  
They listened to the sound of Christina’s footsteps as she walked away down the passage.  
“Well, Will, what is ‘it’?” Harry asked, turning to face William.  
“We appeared to have finished all we had arranged for today. I suppose now would be as good a time as any for you to decide whether you are to return to James’ with me or remain here and arrange whatever business you have left.”  
“I have far too much unfinished business to leave here – but, if you don’t mind, I was rather hoping you’d stay here with me.”  
“I thought you’d never ask, Harry,” William laughed, picking Harry up and spinning him around. “It’s a good thing for you that I have no steady profession – I would not wish to disappoint you with business of my own at any point.”  
“It is very considerate of you, Will. I’m not sure I would appreciate it if you kept having to leave me on business.”  
“I’m sure you would find it in yourself to forgive me, Harry, when I make it up to you.”  
“I think you are right, Will, but I am still glad that you have not yet offended me enough to test that theory.”  
“I shall strive never to have to test that theory.”  
“What a shame – I was so hoping to see how you would make it up to me.”  
William chuckled and kissed Harry briefly on the mouth. “I suppose you will have to wait and see.” He said, before leaving the room.

Harry found himself quite able to complete his business, despite the frequent distractions provided by William. The two of them grew closer with each passing day, with Harry depending on William’s support, especially whenever some incidental thing should remind him of George. A sense of normality began to settle throughout the house; Harry began to feel as though it was his home once more. William also seemed to be settling in well, acquainting himself well with the staff and adjusting to his new routine.

“Are you awake yet, Harry?” William called, shaking Harry’s shoulder.  
“Yes, Will,” Harry replied blearily. “What is it?”  
“There’s someone here to see you.”  
“What?” Harry asked, sitting up and opening his eyes.  
“Surprise!” his visitors declared – William had been joined by Christina, James, and Charles.  
“Why are you here?” Harry asked, pleasantly surprised by the instance.  
“Christina said it was your birthday,” James explained. “So, we thought we would come over to celebrate.”  
“What are you going to do?” Harry asked, climbing out of bed.  
“Well, what do you want us to do?” Charles asked. “We’re your guests, after all.”  
“I’m just trying to be a good host. How long are you going to be here for?”  
“As long as you want.” James said, grandly.  
“Well, not indefinitely,” Charles added. “I do have work to do when we get back home.”  
“What work?” James asked.  
“You know – polishing silverware, making tea, ironing newspaper – your classic butler stuff.”  
“Of course! I keep forgetting that you’re my butler.”  
“Are you saying that I’m not a good butler?”  
“Of course, you’re a very good butler Charlie – the mark of a good butler is being able to do your job without anyone noticing.”  
“So, you think I’m a good butler then?”  
“Oh, the very best, Charlie.”  
“Does… does Charles actually do any butler work?” Harry asked. “I can never tell when you’re joking.”  
“He does as much as I do,” James answered, smirking. “Only, as the accepted master of the house I let him take all the credit, as I have an image to maintain.”  
“I didn’t know you were at all concerned about your image, James.” Christina said.  
“You don’t know everything about me, Christina.”  
“I never claimed to.”  
“Well, leaving James’ reputation to the side for one minute,” William interrupted. “We still haven’t made any proper arrangements for today, never mind any future preparations.”  
“Well,” Harry said. “I think we should start by having breakfast.”  
“After you get dressed.” William teased.  
“Yes, well, perhaps you all should leave me to it – you can wait for me in the dining room. There might be something for you to eat in there as well.”  
They left the room, leaving Harry to get changed in peace.

Harry enjoyed having James and Charles’ visit – he had missed spending time with them, and they provided cheerful company. They passed their time well, laughing far more than Harry felt he had done in years. The visit was not as long as Harry would have really wanted it to be, but he felt that to ask them to stay for much longer would have been too much of an encroachment on their time. He and William saw them off at the end of their visit, then retired to the drawing room.  
“It was lovely having James and Charles over to visit,” Harry said, as he sat himself upon the sofa. “Wasn’t it, Will?”  
“It was, indeed, Harry,” William replied, sitting himself beside Harry. “Though I cannot help feeling that I myself am still just a visitor.”  
“Nonsense, Will.” Harry playfully toyed with William’s chin as he lay on his lap. “You’re far more than that.”  
“I suppose you’re right.” William gently elbowed Harry off his knee. “But I cannot help feeling that way.”  
Harry shifted in his seat. “It is very difficult for a person to consciously control how they feel.”  
“And I cannot control how I feel about you,” William continued, getting up from his seat. “I love you, Harry.” William got down on one knee and took Harry by the hand. “Henry Jorgensen, will you marry me?”  
Harry felt as though the breath had been sucked out of him. “Yes.” He whispered, trembling slightly.  
“I didn’t catch that.” William said, somewhat nervously, leaning his face closer to Harry.  
“Yes!” Harry declared, jumping out of his seat with excitement as a wave of adrenaline flooded through him. “Yes!”  
William stood up and flung his arms around Harry. “Oh, I’m so happy!” he said. “You said yes – I’m so happy!”  
“Oh, I love you, Will.” Harry sighed, melting into William’s arms. William kissed Harry – a wonderful, passionate, romantic kiss. Harry felt like he was almost floating on air he was so happy. He wanted to laugh, cry, and cheer all at once. Nothing could tinge this moment with bitterness; his heart was full of happiness.

The time spent from that moment till the wedding were a blur of delight. There were still moments when Harry felt a tinge of sadness that George was not with him, but for the most part he was elated that William loved him and they were to be married. As his mother was dead, and he knew nothing of his father, Harry asked Christina if she would give him away, an offer which she accepted gladly. They had not a great many friends whom they wished to invite, but they felt the quality of their company more than made up for the small quantity.

The day of the wedding arrived, overcast with a definitive chill to the air, but Harry wouldn’t have cared if it was a heavy downpour. His joy at marrying William filled him with a warmth that no weather could chill. The morning preparations had begun the night before, with William staying at James’ house. Christina helped Harry dress himself in his new suit, specially bought for the occasion.  
“You look wonderful,” she said, straightening his cravat. “I don’t think Mr. Anderson has ever seen you looking so handsome before.”  
“You are too kind, Christina,” Harry replied modestly, checking his jacket for creases in the mirror. “Although I must say that your gown is stunning. I fear that you may even upstage me.”  
“Nonsense,” Christina said, smoothing down Harry’s collar. “No one will be able to look at anyone other than you two, because you are whom they have come to see, Mr. Jorgensen.”  
“Thank you, Christina.” Harry gave himself one last check in the mirror. “Well then, shall we set off?”  
“If you’re ready, Mr. Jorgensen.” Christina offered her arm to Harry and the two of them set off to the wedding.

The ceremony itself was uneventful, but delightful to all in attendance. Harry was delighted to return to his home with William as his husband. James and Charles were to join them for the wedding breakfast, an invitation which they considered a great honour.  
“We didn’t expect to ever be present at a wedding breakfast,” James said, as they sat down to eat. “Charlie and I never actually married, and far too many of our friends are determined bachelors for us to have a chance of being invited to a wedding, never mind celebrating with the happy couple.”  
“James hasn’t the imagination to consider marriage,” Charles teased. “Though I have had to cope with him acting like a common housewife for many years.”  
“Come now, Charlie – there’s nothing wrong with having a housewife, now is there?”  
“It is not my place to judge the decisions of other men, but if I had wanted a housewife myself, I would have married one.”  
“If you had wanted not to live with me,” James retorted playfully. “You could easily have chosen to leave. The truth is, you love having me as your housewife, you just don’t want to admit it in public.”  
“You’re half right, James, but I am not at all afraid to admit that I have no cause to regret my decision to enter a common-law marriage with you.”  
“I knew you loved the amount of time you got to spend with me.”  
“I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with Harry,” William declared, taking Harry’s hand affectionately. “I love him more than anyone in the world.”  
“I love you too, Will.”  
Harry looked and William and smiled, and in that moment, he felt that he would live happily with William for the rest of his life.

And he was right.


End file.
